


Patterns

by serapheim



Category: Smallville
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Dominance, Drinking, Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Obsessive Behaviour, Power Play, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serapheim/pseuds/serapheim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all those years Clark had plenty of time to memorize all Lex’s habits, all his patterns, all possible scenarios. He learned to recognize anger in Lex’s steps, hear exhaustion in his breathing, read annoyance in jerky movements. He learned to guess Lex’s mood even before he saw him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> My very first and only Smallville fanfiction. Can’t believe I wrote it seven years ago! Posting a bit revised edition.

  
  
Lex never announced his return. He never came in saying ‘hello’ or ‘I’m home’ or any other phrase which was so common for the Kents house. He didn’t have a habit of calling home beforehand, saying if he would make it for the dinner or that he would have to stay at the office. The man wasn’t used to being met at the door, greeted by a smile or a brief kiss. Clark stopped doing that after the first time he noticed Lex flinch, when he caught Lex looking at him as if he hadn’t expected to see Clark. A flinch was involuntary - a reaction that he couldn’t suppress. Perhaps, it was due to the fact that Lex had been so used to living alone and not having anyone to wait for him that even after all those years he was still surprised that he wasn’t alone.  
  
  
Hadn’t been alone for more than five years.  
  
  
But the old habits die hard, as people say. And it was a habit also, a habit of forgetting that there was someone waiting for him at home and as it was a habit of ignoring someone’s arrival, as if Clark couldn’t hear the car’s engine from miles away.  
  
  
In all those years Clark had plenty of time to memorize all Lex’s habits, all his patterns, all possible scenarios. He learned to recognize anger in Lex’s steps, hear exhaustion in his breathing, read annoyance in jerky movements. He learned to guess Lex’s mood even before he saw him.  
  
  
He would watch the city scenery from the penthouse window, listening for the elevator to go up and finally stop, and that would be his cue - he would escape the room, before the door would even open. Lex would come in, immediately discard his shoes on the floor and enter the living room, making his way to the bar. There he would pour himself a glass of brandy or a whiskey or a thirty-year-old cognac - something to suit his mood. And Clark would watch him from the shadows and the corners, always staying in the periphery of his sight, watching him move, watching the tight line of his mouth, giving him enough time to wind down.  
  
  
There were times when Lex would come home wired and jumpy with suppressed tension. Clark would watch his movements, more brisk than usual, the way he would let out a frustrated hiss or bite his lower lip. He would see the way the other man’s knuckles would whiten, his grip inhumanly strong around the glass. He would know to stay away longer than usual, letting Lex ride out his anger alone. Clark would become even more discreet, almost invisible in his stillness. He would close his eyes and pretend not to hear yells and a sound of breaking glass. And then when it was finally safe enough to enter the tiger’s cage, he would come in the library and see Lex sitting in the leather chair or leaning at the edge of the table, the debris littering the floor. Clark would come up to him and see the flames of rage fade in the pale blue eyes and, without saying a word, he would drop on his knees before him, open the man’s pants and suck him or let Lex bent him over the table.  
  
  
Raw and burning, bites instead of kisses, bruises instead of lover’s caress - sex with Lex when he was high on adrenaline was nothing like their usual love-making. It was rough and sometimes hurt in too many ways to forget, but they would succumb to it every time Clark felt that Lex needed it. It was like riding a storm or trying to tame a wild mustang. It was ecstatic, but exhausting, scary, but satisfying in its wildness. It was about taking, claiming, showing who was in charge, who was the owner and who was the owned.  
  
  
“You know, a dog meets its master at the door, when he comes home.” Lex’s fingers were twisting Clark’s wet strands of hair with occasional tag that bordered on pain, but somehow it made it even more pleasurable. The younger man’s cheek was pressed to a warm wool-clad thigh. His pose was a bit awkward, and his knees were hurting, but he was almost purring with the pleasure of it.  
  
  
Lex let out a barking laugh. “Even a cat does”, he added, bringing a glass to his lips. The room was dimly lit - just a lamp on the desk and a streak of pale streetlight from the half draped curtains. But Lex could almost make out the features of the man sitting at his feet. “But you don’t,” he continued. Clark rubbed his cheek over the wool, enjoying the feel of the moving muscles beneath the material. “I never thought of you as a cat, Clark. Though you do have some kind of an independent air around you.” Lex was stroking the other man’s scalp lazy, his face unreadable, his voice smooth and guarded. “But in the end you’d always come back, when called, wouldn’t you.”  
  
  
Clark hissed, when Lex suddenly pulled at his hair, making him crank his neck and look up into his eyes. Watching the slightly parted full lips and green eyes, which were almost black in the darkness, the man mused, “So, what are you, Clark, a cat or a dog?” And the younger man knew that it was an order, heard it as one, so he crawled up the sprawled bod to feast hungrily on the thin mouth and whisper into it the words, Lex longed him to say, “Whatever you want me to be.”  
  
  
But sometimes Lex would be gone for more than one day, more than two or even three days. And when he would come home, so exhausted, almost burned out, that the moment the door closes behind him, his shoulders would slump, the dark circles under his eyes would become even more prominent, and Clark would know that it was only his pride that kept him up on his feet.  
  
Lex would stumble to pour himself a drink, and Clark would run him a bath, prepare fresh clothes and bed. He would silently appear behind the tired man, massage his neck and shoulders, willing him to relax, carefully help him off the tie and shirt.  
  
  
He would whisper in the shorter man’s ear, if he wanted him to heat the supper, and watch Lex shake his head. Then Clark would lead him to the bathroom, unbuckle his belt, unbutton and unzip his fly, help Lex step out of the pants, remove his socks and briefs, gently rubbing sore muscles. He would leave then, taking a bundle of clothes to dump in a laundry basket, taking a mental note to tell the help in the morning to do the laundry. Clark would change and wait for Lex in bed, watch him exit the bathroom, a towel in a hand, his skin still mostly damp after a bath. He would get the clue and take the towel to rub the other man’s back dry. Then Clark would throw the towel in a corner and join Lex in bed, sliding under the sheets and moving to wrap himself around the cool pale body, his lips briefly grazing over the back of his head.  
  
  
Clark would feel most happy in those moments, feel that he belonged, know that he was worthy. He didn’t need words, didn’t need false promises or skillfully crafted lies. The man in his arms, his even breathing and the steady beating of his heart were all that he ever wanted or ever needed.  
  
  
Clark had long got used to waiting for Lex, never showing excessive happiness when the man came home early, never feeling surprised when sometimes he didn’t come home at all. He spent days, waiting for him to come home, knowing that he eventually would, because he had long ago learned all Lex’s patterns.  
  
  
And coming back to Clark was his most prominent one.  
  
  
  
  
  
Written: August 21, 2005  
Revised: August 16, 2012


End file.
